Someone on Facebook recommended it and whoa, it blew me away. I wouldn’t say it’s among my favorite books, but it is among the books I respect the most. The structure of the plot (which is not the same as the structure of the book) is like sitting in the middle of a small peninsula watching the waves wash up on shore on all but one side of you and the story is what the water leaves in the sand after each wave.
There is a crescendo, but it’s not the point where the characters you’ve been following so far have some glorious climax. Instead, it’s where Maso says, “You’ve been watching the shore to your left and right, but you’ve missed everything going on at the point. Let’s look now.”
Ugh. It just tore my heart right out..
To me, writing is about longing and longing is the close sibling of grief. This is a book that really gets that.
Tiny Cat Pants 